This is a story about Jada from “Shooting Star”.
“Jada, you came!” cries 9-year-old Camilla Johnson as she throws open the front door.
“But of course,” I reply with a grin and step inside. The aroma of a chocolate birthday cake greets me, and I inhale deeply. Cam takes the gift bags I hand her and drops them on the couch. As we head into the kitchen, the chocolaty aroma grows stronger.
“Hello there!” Mr. Johnson welcomes me.
Mrs. Johnson, standing over a sink of dishes, smiles in my direction. Haley looks up from her spot at the table. Her shoulder-length brown hair swishes. We’re both thirteen and I hope we can be friends.
“Am I too early?” I ask.
“Not at all!” Mrs. Johnson declares. “Cam was worried you weren’t coming.”
“How do you like living here?” I inquire. The Johnsons moved in next door a few weeks ago with only a couple boxes.
“It’s working out,” Mr. Johnson answers, exchanging a glance with his wife.
Haley shrugs. “It’s okay.”
“There’s a lot more space here,” Cam comments. “I liked my home in Elmhurst better, though.”
Mr. Johnson stiffens, Haley gasps, and Mrs. Johnson clears her throat.
“Um, Elmhurst Road?” Cam asks like a question. “In Jefferson City, Missouri?”
Mrs. Johnson nods, and then the moment’s over.
“Did you like the fair?” I question, to change the subject.
“I loved it!” Cam exclaims. “Food, games and animals! Way more fun than that boring map fair last fall.”
The others frown, but Cam’s oblivious.
“Last fall was pretty warm,” she continues absentmindedly. “Even in November.”
Her prattling reminds me of my older sister, Emila. Emila chattered lots and was enthusiastic about everything. She liked being involved. She gave tons of suggestions on my photography. But the photos she helped with weren’t very good, and she was the first to admit it! She cheered me on and went ballistic when I won photo contests.
Two years ago, Emila died in a car accident shortly after her birthday. I stopped doing photography. Too many memories. I blink and swallow. The Johnsons know about Emila, but now’s not the time to bring her up again.
Suddenly a gunshot shatters the silence! Everyone jumps, and Mr. Johnson looks around wildly for danger.
I’m the first to recover. “I reckon someone’s got crows in their corn,” I guess.
Mrs. Johnson’s wits return. “Uh, Ray? You okay?” He doesn’t answer. “Take Jada to your room, Cam. I’ll call you for dinner.” She goes to him. For someone who said he grew up on a farm, he sure was alarmed.
I follow Cam down the hall to her room. The room looks spacious since there’s only a dresser and a bed. On the blue bedspread lies an open notebook. On one page is a photo of a crossroad. There are single houses all down one road. Labels on a lamppost read “Maple Ave” and “Third St”. A blond-haired girl who looks exactly like Haley, except for her hair, is walking across the street. Below the photo is one word, “Home”.
Cam flips the notebook closed. She grabs an iPhone off the dresser and clicks it on. “I took a picture of this thing across from the map fair,” she tells me, tapping and flicking the screen. As she turns the iPhone around, she accidentally swipes her finger across it. It goes to the next photo, a girl in a light jacket, blond hair being blown by a strong wind. She’s the same girl in the photo in Cam’s notebook. Behind her is a blueish-green ocean. There are tall, blurry forms on the ocean’s horizon.
Cam quickly swipes back. “This picture, I mean.”
A silver, bean-shaped thing reflects the tiny people crowded on the sidewalk around it. Tall buildings rise up behind.
“Cool!” I comment.
We pass the time with conversation. Cam talks enough for both of us, but I like her.
After a delicious supper — Cam and I favor some of the same dishes — it’s present time. She opens some new games. As we play them at the table, Haley becomes more friendly. Late at night, we take our sleeping bags and flashlights to the empty barn for the planned loft sleepover. There aren’t any animals in the barn yet, since they just moved in. Haley bolts the doors before we head up to the loft, “for security,” she says.
“Which present is your favorite?” I ask Cam once we’ve settled down in a pile of hay.
“That first game, Apples to Apples,” she answers. After a pause, she confides, “I actually wanted a spy camera watch, but I should be content with what I’ve got, right?”
I smile. “You’re very smart.”
As I fall asleep, I remember Emila and the spy watch we used to play with. I see it in my mind’s eye, the clock’s hands resting at 8:15, a.m. or p.m. I don’t know. They stopped sometime after Emila died. I don’t know what Emila would want me to do with it, so I put it in a box in my closet.
I wake sometime during the night and need the bathroom. In the house, I tiptoe down the hall. With my iPhone turned on for light, I reach for the bathroom door. Suddenly I hear a muffled cry from one of the bedrooms, then Mrs. Johnson urging, “Wake up, Kevin, you’re in a nightmare!”
I slip into the bathroom. When I flush, I hear the squeak of a door. “Kat, is that you?” Mrs. Johnson calls softly.
“No, it’s me, Jada,” I whisper as I step out. “Who’s Kat?”
“I meant ‘Cam’,” Mrs. Johnson replies. “Everything okay?”
I nod.
“Get me if you need anything.”
I thank her and head back to the barn. Just outside, I stop to think. Mrs. Johnson said “Kat”, I’m sure of it! And another thing’s bothering me. Mr. Johnson’s name’s Ray, not Kevin.
Something else’s nagging me. Cam said they lived on Elmhurst Road, not Maple Avenue or Third Street. Maybe Elmhurst Road’s in that neighborhood, though. I pull my iPhone out to do a quick search. I find that neither Elmhurst Road nor Maple Ave exist in Jefferson City, Missouri. Why would Cam tell me a nonexistent place? Thinking back, she actually said, “I liked my home in Elmhurst,” before she told me Elmhurst Road.
Maybe if I knew the state I could find out which road she lived on. Perhaps she lived in the same state as the map fair she talked about, and the bean-like thing that’s across the street. I run a browser search for “bean-shaped mirror”. I click on the first hit. The webpage loads a picture of the structure in Cam’s photo! It’s called Cloud Gate, nicknamed The Bean, and is in Chicago, Illinois.
Back in Google Maps, I try “Maple Ave, Elmhurst, Illinois”. It’s there! I go to the street view where Maple Avenue and a “W 3rd St” intersect. What I see is the exact place in the photo in Cam’s notebook! Where exactly is Elmhurst in Illinois? I back out in Google Maps and see Chicago is to the east.
There’s one last thing I’m curious about. In my browser I search “Map Fair”. For a moment I wonder if I should’ve been more specific, but the first hit’s the homepage of a Chicago Map Fair. It says the Map Fair’s across the street from The Bean, just like Cam said!
Suddenly I have a realization. The ocean in Cam’s ‘ocean’ photo is actually Lake Michigan, which perfectly explains the skyscrapers on the horizon. Then I realize something else. Last year’s 2016 Map Fair was over the last weekend of October. So, since the Lake Michigan photo’s after the photo of The Bean, it was taken afterwards, probably in November. I remember Cam’s comment about it being warm. That’s why the girl in the ocean photo has on a light jacket.
I know the Johnsons have been lying, and Mr. Johnson was really alarmed and put on alert by that gunfire. Chicago’s infamous for its crime rates. He might be a criminal lying low because the police are onto him! That would explain why they arrived with almost nothing; they don’t want to be identified! I’ll keep my eyes open for some incriminating evidence. Maybe I can be a hero!
I do have proof that Cam lied to me, so I’ll confront her in the morning. I think talking to her would be safe enough, and I want to know the truth!
I head into the barn, wishing Emila were here. She’d love this and know exactly what to do. As I climb up the ladder and the top of my head rises above the loft floor, I hear a scream!
“What is it?” I cry, flying the rest of the way up the ladder.
Haley’s sitting bolt upright and Cam jerks up as I rush over to them. Suddenly, Haley breaks down into great heaving sobs. “I heard footsteps and — gasp — then silence for a long time and then — choke — the barn door! I thought someone was coming to—” She doesn’t finish her sentence, just gasps again and wipes her eyes and nose.
“It’s okay,” I assure her. “No one’s going to—”
“Did you lock the barn doors?” Haley interrupts, and hurries down. I hear the slam of the bolt.
“Is she always this… paranoid?” I whisper to Cam.
“She didn’t used to be,” Cam replies a little too loudly.
Haley and I lie wide awake for a long time. Eventually my eyelids begin to droop, and then it’s morning. Time to confront Cam.
I find her in the kitchen. As casually as I can, I get her to come with me to her room. Inside, I tell her everything I found out and show her the proof. But I don’t include my suspicions about her father.
When I’m all out of words, Cam frowns and announces, “I need to talk to my parents. We’ll get back to you.”
I go into panic mode before realizing she didn’t say they’d get me, but that they’d get back to me.
When Cam invited me to her house for her birthday, her parents also invited my parents to come over for breakfast the day after the sleepover. My parents arrive on the dot, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Nothing bad has happened so far, and I’ll be safe with them here.
Everyone gets along, although Mr. Johnson seems a bit stressed. Plates heaped with pancakes, toast, and eggs are passed around. Then toppings circulate. We’re all eating when Mrs. Johnson wipes her mouth with a napkin and announces, “Jada has noticed some discrepancies.”
Mom pauses, a spoonful of egg halfway to her mouth. She gives me a look. “What’s this about?”
“Jada talked to Cam, and Cam told us,” Mr. Johnson explains, putting down his fork. “We’d like to clear things up, if you’ll give us the chance.”
Haley’s eyes widen.
“Clear what up?” asks Dad, utterly lost and confused with this turn in the conversation.
“What we’ve told you isn’t the truth,” Mr. Johnson informs him. He gathers his thoughts and begins. “I’ve never farmed a day in my life,” he reveals, then smiles. “My wife grew up on a farm, not me. After finishing school in the suburbs, I became a detective in Chicago. I can’t say much about what I did there, but last month, my work put us in great danger.
“We hesitated to change our identities, even if that was the safest thing to do. But when a co-worker who’d been on the same case with me was murdered, our decision was made. We changed our names, dyed and re-styled our hair, got rid of most of our stuff, and moved here.”
I snap my gawking mouth shut and look down at my plate, ashamed of my earlier assumptions. This poor family!
“I’m so sorry!” Mom cries, her feelings written all over her face.
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Dad offers.
“Just keep our secret,” Mr. Johnson requests.
There’s one thing I want to know. “Can I ask something?”
“You may certainly ask,” Mrs. Johnson says with a twinkle in her eye.
“Why did you tell us your story?”
“You figured out where we used to live,” Mrs. Johnson answers. “We were worried you might start talking.”
“My lips are sealed,” I promise. “But what if someone else picks up on things?”
“Yeah,” Cam chimes in. “Or what if I let something slip again?”
Mr. Johnson sighs. “We might have to relocate.”
“I sure hope that doesn’t happen,” Cam says quietly.
“I’ll help quell suspicions,” I volunteer. I can still be a hero, after all!
Suddenly I stand. I know what Emila would want now. “I need to get something,” I tell them, and dash next door to my house. With a small box of spare batteries, I head to my room. I slide the box of Emila’s possessions off a shelf inside my closet. Something falls from the shelf with a thump! Setting the box down, I pick it up. My camera! I put the camera aside for the moment, hoping it’s not broken. Then I replace the spy watch’s battery. I miss Emila so bad.
The clock starts up again with a steady tick tick, as if it’d never stopped. I glance at the clock on my side table. What a coincidence! The time is exactly 8:15, so I don’t have to reset the watch. Since I have the batteries out, I might as well see if the camera is broken. There are only two AA batteries, so I’ll put them back in the box when I’m finished. I turn on the camera. It works! Out of curiosity I click to the last thing taken, a video. I press play. The screen turns dark and fuzzy. Suddenly out comes a familiar voice, Emila’s!
“It’s my 14th birthday. I woke early and have a feeling I should tell you no matter what happens during this next year of our lives, I love you. Your sis, Emila. Over and out.”
Maybe it’s time for me to begin again, start where I left off. Emila wouldn’t have wanted me to stop doing something I love, and now I have good memories attached to the camera. I leave the batteries in it, and leave it on my bed.
Then I take the spy watch and run back to the Johnson’s.
“Cam,” I announce, panting, “Emila would’ve wanted you to have this.” And I give her the spy watch.
Cam gasps, and her face lights up.
“To count every second you can live here, and to record all your escapades!” I declare.
She beams. “Thank you!”
I have a sudden thought. “Was yesterday really your birthday?”
Cam looks to her parents, and Haley speaks up instead. “Well, what do you think?”
